


"A Million Years Ago"

by farad



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Prime Time 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 08:25:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15139103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: Set immediately after the end of the last episode of Season 2, Doc ponders his new mortality and the myriad ways the present and past are entwined.





	"A Million Years Ago"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mlraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/gifts).



 

“A Million Years Ago”

 

 

 

“ _I only wanted to have fun_  
_Learning to fly, learning to run_  
_I let my heart decide the way_  
 _When I was young_  
 _Deep down I must have always known_  
 _That this would be inevitable_  
 _To earn my stripes I'd have to pay_  
 _And bear my soul”_

 He coughed.

 It had been the thing that he most feared, the return of the disease. The return of the slow, painful death.

 Despite himself, he thought of his mother. He always did when he coughed.

 But this time, he fought off the memory of her strangled prayers, he saw another Alice. A tiny one, perfect in every way and so very small that he could hold her in one hand. He had held her in one hand.

 For a few very precious minutes, before she, too, had been taken from him.

He wiped at his mouth with the handkerchief, not surprised when it came back smeared with a blood; as it had long ago, when he’d been with his first Earp.

Wyatt.

Damn the man.

He crumpled the cloth, pushing it back into his coat pocket despite the pain from his hand. From habit, his good hand rose to curl around the bottle on the bar top, pouring more of the amber liquid into the glass before him. Self-medication, as the youth today called it.

Where the hell was Rosie? Though perhaps that was not the most importune way to consider the matter. She had yet to put in an appearance, not since the birth of his child. And he needed her, needed her medical skills.

His hand throbbed at the thought, reinforcing this new mortality. He damned Bobo as well – fitting, to damn the man who had come between him and Wyatt.

Who had replaced him in Wyatt’s affections. Such as they were.

Though Bobo had been right, too: Wyatt had buggered them both. In more ways than one.

He heard the footsteps at the front door of the bar and a hand close on the doorknob. Calling out that the bar was closed would be of no use, as he already knew the person on the other side. So as the doorknob turned and a familiar voice called out, “Doc? You in here?”, he took a long drink of his whiskey, letting it slid across the irritated skin of his throat. It burned, as it had so long ago, but in its wake, there was a soothing relief.

“ _I know I'm not the only one_  
_Who regrets the things they've done_  
 _Sometimes I just feel it's only me_  
 _Who can't stand the reflection that they see_  
 _I wish I could live a little more_  
 _Look up to the sky, not just the floor_  
 _I feel like my life is flashing by_  
 _And all I can do is watch and cry_  
 _I miss the air, I miss my friends_  
 _I miss my mother, I miss it when_  
 _Life was a party to be thrown_  
 _But that was a million years ago”_

She came in slowly, which was unusual for her; as a rule, the Earps rarely did anything slowly. Wyatt himself had been notorious for his lack of deliberation before entering any establishment or any fray. Most of his brothers had been the same.

His great granddaughters certainly had not fallen far from the family tree. Even if one of them didn’t have the full complement of Earp blood. It was something in the family name, he thought, something in being surrounded by them.

But then, wasn’t that what he had felt, when he’d been part of the Earp inner circle? When he’d been treated as one of the brothers, even though he was as far from being blood as it was possible to be?

“Doc?” Her tone was soft and hesitant, a sign of her natural compassion. That was not part of the Earp blood, and perhaps he should have realized it earlier. He’d thought several times, especially when Willa was among them, that there were notable differences between the three of them – and one of the biggest differences was the levels of tenderness.

This one actually had it. He’d known it from the first time he’d met her, but this last day, the way she’d cried when she’d handed him his daughter, the way she’d hurt as much as he had when Alice – his child, his only child in his long, wayward life – had vanished into the clouds, into the hands of strangers . . .

He knew, in the part of his brain that was smart, that played cards to win, that calculated the percentages in any gunfight, that part of his brain knew that Wynonna had been right. The only way to save Alice – to save their child – was to get her away from this place, to get her away from them.

But right now, no matter how wise he knew that decision to be, he was sorely angered by the fact that Wynonna had made that decision without consulting him.

Sorely hurting from it.

And he knew that was why Waverly was here. Because of all the people he could rail against, Waverly was among the last.

“I fear that I am not fair company as of now,” he said, though he had to clear his throat at least once to finish the statement.

“I know it’s not a good time,” she said, but still she came forward, closing the door behind her. “But . . .” She hesitated, and he heard her swallow.

She also lacked the skills of pretense, and he understood that his day was to get worse. Not that he was sure how that could happen, but then, since his resurrection from that cursed well, he had come to know that there was no bottom limit to the ways of pain.

He reached once more of the bottle, refilling his glass, as he said, “Wynonna has taken my immortality and my child. What more would she have of me today?”

It was not his best side, this churlishness, but at the moment, there was a certain satisfaction in voicing his anger at Wynonna. How like Wyatt she was, so ready to take other people for granted.

So ready to take him for granted.

Waverly still came forward though, and he found himself hunching forward, as if in fear of a physical blow. Her words were soft and sad, which, in truth, was far worse. “Was there another way? If we can find some other plan, we can bring Alice back – and believe me, Doc, we would all like that. I didn’t realize I would love her so much. And I know if I feel this way, then you and Wynonna . . .” Her words trailed away, and Doc found himself thinking of Morgan Earp, Wyatt’s younger brother. He, too, had been quiet in his way, and, like Waverly, the one who tried to be the peacemaker.

He almost snorted at his own wit. But then he recalled that Morgan had been the first one of them to die. That thought brought him up short and he turned to look at her.

She was still dressed as she had been that afternoon, though her hair was loose now, framing her elegant face in a way that made him think of dark eyed beauties – like his own Kate. She had put up with him for years, despite his dalliances and distractions, despite his long absences in service to Wyatt.

Despite his patent commitment to Wyatt. And, perhaps worse, his own bad temper in those latter years, when he had refused to do Wyatt’s bidding, because of his own -

“Wynonna felt that you should know. But she didn’t think she should be the one to explain,” Waverly sighed, drawing him out of the past. “I’m really not sure I should be, but someone does need to explain what happened – and why Rosie’s not here.”

Just like that, his day got worse.

He turned and looked Waverly straight in the eyes. “Wynonna shot her.” The words were simple enough, but the image that came with him, of Rosie, who he had promised to protect, being consumed in the fire of Hell – fires he now knew far too well, having been there himself -

“No, not Wynonna,” Waverly said, raising one hand as if to ward off a blow. “Me.”

Those words made no sense at all, of course. And as if knowing his mind before he said it, she went on, “I didn’t want to – and I think Peacemaker knew it, too. It wouldn’t fire at first, and it was only when Wynonna yelled at it, that it did. I’m so sorry, Doc, I really did like Rosie. I don’t know what came over her.”

He found that he was still staring, still grappling with the idea of it. If Waverly had shot Peacemaker at her, then it shouldn’t have sent her back to Hell. But whyever was sweet Waverly shooting at his Rosie?

He must have spoken aloud, for she looked away from him, her gaze roaming over the bar as though she were searching for something. Or someone. “After you and Jeremy left, Rosie was helpful – we got Wynonna settled on the pool table, and we were trying to keep her calm. And then – well, Rosie knocked me out.”

She turned back to him then, her face expressing a pain that he knew was not from the physical blow itself. No, dear dear Waverly was pained because she did not understand what had caused Rosie to act in such a way.

Though he did. He had hoped to avoid it, hoped that his promises to protect her would be good enough. But Rosie was her own woman – just as Kate had been. Just as Wynonna was.

He had more than one curse, it seemed. Though this one had started well before his meeting with the Demon Clootie.

“I wasn’t completely unconscious,” Waverly went on, her voice soft. “I heard what she said to Wynonna. She was going to take the baby – take Alice. She threatened to sell her – how could she do that, Doc? How could she do that to your child? I mean, I guess I can understand why she would hate Wynonna – the Curse, being your baby-mama, the way you still feel about her - but Rosie had to know how much that would hurt you.”

He lifted his glass, taking a large swallow and considering her words. As he set the glass back on the bar top, he reached for the bottle and pushed it toward Waverly. “She did, I assure you,” he said. “But I believe there is more involved here than she intimated.” He leaned across the bar and drew a clean glass from its place on the other side and held it out to her. “If you prefer something other than whiskey, please feel free to fetch it for yourself.”

Waverly took the bottle of whiskey and the glass and poured several fingers as she said, “Please tell me that it was something else.”

He smiled despite himself. Sometimes it was difficult to see the Earp part of her, though he had no doubt that that newfangled test she’d taken was wrong. She was an Earp but the worst parts of the family – the parts she seemed to consider to be their strengths – were diminished in her. That left room for a more sensitive soul.

One he would have preferred to be the keeper of his sweet Alice. He hoped desperately that like Waverly, his baby girl would be shortchanged in the Earp tenacity and single-mindedness.

“First, may I inquire as to the results of your attempt to take her from this world?”

Waverly drank from her glass before answering, and when she spoke, her voice held the rasp of a novice drinker and she had to clear her throat several times. “I scared her, but I didn’t hit her – or at least, I don’t think I did. She ran through the back,” she lifted her chin to indicate a nearby doorway, “and we didn’t see her again. Though I didn’t have time to look for her, as Alice was on the way.”

Doc nodded, looking toward the same doorway. Rosie had come to know the establishment with a thoroughness that he might have envied, and he understood that her motivation was to always have a plan of escape. It had saved her, he suspected.

"So – why did she do it?” Waverly asked, looking at him over the rim of her glass. “How could she even consider it?”

He glanced to her then back toward the doorway. “There are ways to answer that, but I suspect we could start with the fact that she was playing a classic game of misdirection. I do apologize for what she did to you – in truth, I suspect that she felt she had no other choice. She had to remove you from the scene, and incapacitating you was probably the only option she felt that she had.”

“She slammed my head in the pool table,” Waverly said. “What would she have done if she’d hated me - never mind, I saw that, too. She’d take my baby and sell it to the highest Revenant bidder.”

Doc shook his head, but he reached out and dropped his uninjured hand on her shoulder. “Rosie does not hate Wynonna. And she only said those things so that Wynonna would start her search for the baby – for Alice – with the Revenants. Giving Rosie some time to get away.”

Waverly frowned. “So Rosie was stealing Alice for herself?”

Doc finished off his drink and reached once more for the bottle. “In a way, yes. But there was no theft involved; she had my blessings and was doing it at my behest.”

Waverly drew in a sharp breath and turned in her chair to face him. “You were taking Alice away from us?”

Doc tilted his head and looked at her. “Apparently, I was thinking similarly to you and yours – of getting my child somewhere safe, away from this place.”

“Without telling us.” Waverly put her glass down on the bar, hard enough to slosh the fluid inside.

As she started to stand up, he said, “As you did not tell me that Alice was to be flown away to places unknown. I hardly think that there is any call for anger on your part, as we both had the same goal in mind: the safety of the child. And the heir.”

She opened her mouth as her foot touched the floor but then she paused, staring at him. “Wynonna? You were trying to save Wynonna?”

He had been thinking of his daughter, of protecting her. But Waverly’s words put it in a new perspective: of course he had been trying to save Wynonna as well. That was such a part of his motivations that it was no longer something he considered. It was instinct, as much as drawing his gun and firing it.

As much as drinking whiskey to ease the pain.

As much as letting Wynonna be with Dolls at this very moment. And perhaps – well, perhaps far longer. Dolls was now the one better able to protect her, for unlike himself, Dolls was not mortal.

The cough seemed to come from deep inside him, deeper and lower. It erupted with such force that he barely had time to turn away from her and cover his mouth, reaching for his handkerchief.

It went on longer than usual and left him gasping for breath, the muscles of his stomach cramping with the strain. He wiped at his mouth, then at his eyes as he had teared to the point that he could not see. When he could, he found Waverly leaning in close, her hands on his shoulders.

“This is why you didn’t want to be mortal,” she murmured. “There are ways to cure this now. We need to get you to a doctor soon, though, before it gets any worse.”

He reached for his drink – or tried to; his hand was shaking so badly that he couldn’t get his fingers to grasp the glass hard enough. Waverly did it for him, lifting the glass to his mouth and holding it until he motioned that he’d had enough.

A cure, he thought as he let the whiskey burn away the pain.

But with that thought came another – he’d held his baby girl in his arms. Not for long, and he hadn’t coughed, not that he recalled, but . . .

“Alice,” he said, or tried to; it came out in a garble, caught in the whiskey and his breath.

Waverly put the glass back on the bar as she said, “I didn’t think of that – none of us did. I’ll get in touch with Aunt Gus and tell her; she was already getting Alice to a doctor as soon as possible. They can check this. There’s a vaccine for it now, Doc, for tuberculosis. Alice will get it no matter what, so don’t worry about that.”

He nodded, not trusting his voice yet. The worry was still high in his belly, pushing again at his lungs. The need to cough was building and he tried desperately to control it. It was a relief when Waverly got up and walked across the large room toward the far door, typing away on her phone as she did.

By the time she returned, he was himself once more, again putting away his handkerchief.

“I’ve let Gus know. And you’re right, we have no right to be angry with you about doing what we were doing, trying to protect Alice by getting her out of the Triangle. I guess we should all learn to trust each other more.” As she said the words, she sighed. “I thought I’d learned that, with the whole thing with Nicole and with giving up the ring . . .”

He sighed. “I had words with Bobo,” he said quietly. “I am pleased to report that he is not your father.”

She straightened, staring at him. “What did he say?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Doc sat back in his chair and recalled the conversation, such as it was. “He claims that he never said that you were his daughter, just that you were kin. That was precisely how he said it – kin.”

Waverly frowned. “But how can I be kin to him? I crossed the line, I don’t have revenant blood.” She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Without a thought, he shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders. There was a chill in the air, but it was a sort of relief; speaking of Bobo, of what he had said from the depths of the well, was also a reminder of his own recent past. Of the fires of hell.

The marks on his wrists flared as if once more being burned, temporarily overcoming the throbbing from his hand – and the burning in his lungs. He’d brought his own Hell back with him, and it was consuming him from inside . . .

“Maybe you’re kin – from before,” he said.

“From before?” she asked, pulled his coat more closely about her. “You mean . . . from your time.”

He drew in a long breath, closing his eyes and trying to think of the past. It wasn’t something he liked to do, especially now, recalling what he had been in the history that had not included Wynonna. That John Henry, that man had been far too much like the man he had been after Wyatt, after – well, after Wyatt.

That man had been the man Robert Svane had left in the well – and perhaps with good reason.

Perhaps.

But thinking of the past, of what he could recall of Robert Svane was a distraction from the various aches in his body, the various burnings. So he gave into the meanderings of his memories. He had first met Svane -

No, that was not a memory he wanted to consider. So he thought instead of the times after, when he and Wyatt had gone their separate ways – because of Svane. “As a recall, Robert Svane believed himself to be a righteous man,” he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “He was married and I believe that he had children of his own – that was the expectation of the time.”

Waverly tilted her head to one side, frowning. “So it’s possible that I am descended from him – before he became a Revenant?”

“From one of his children, yes. Perhaps he has a great grandson here in Purgatory.” The idea of it was strangely intriguing. Robert Svane’s offspring, here.

Robert Svane’s offspring parenting an Earp.

Just as he had.

Perhaps they’d both managed, finally, to bugger Wyatt.

The thought almost made him laugh, but Waverly was watching him so he curbed his humor.

“Wynonna says that Bobo wasn’t always – well, the hard-ass we know now. He saved be from drowning when I was young. He tried to protect me. I thought it was because he was my father. But if he’s not . . .” Waverly’s words drifted off.

He drew in a breath, looking at her. She was … well, she was an angel. Damn Bobo for seeing that before anyone else.

“He’s trapped in that damnable well,” Doc said. “Perhaps you will have more success getting answers from him.”

“He’s in the well?” she asked. “Your well?”

“It seemed a safe – and fitting – prison for him, for the moment. I did consider the idea that we may need more information from him in the coming days, what with the Demon Clootie – Bashur – now among us.” He sighed and closed his eyes. Sleep, he needed sleep. “I should also warn you that he seems to have promised you as a new wife for the awakened demon. Though you may well be able to get him to reconsider that promise.”

Or Wynonna could kill him – again. That was a more soothing idea, and he knew that if Waverly shared this piece of information, it would become Wynonna’s erstwhile goal.

He heard a sudden burst of music and blinked to find Waverly staring at her phone. “I gotta go – Nicole’s picking me up and we’re heading to the hospital; Dolls got Wynonna to agree to be checked out, and they want to admit her, at least for the night.”

“Is it dire?” he asked, concern roiling in his belly. It was not a good accompaniment to whiskey, though it had become a familiar one these last months. He pushed himself to his feet, his injured hand once more protesting.

“Nicole says it’s for observation – she did just give birth,” Waverly said, looking away from the phone and toward the pool table. He followed her gaze but saw no indications that anything had occurred there.

The stairs leading down into the bar, however, were another story. It was clear that Wynonna had taken on a host of Revenants here, though the scorching from the hellfire seemed to have covered over most of the blood.

“You really need to air this place out,” Waverly said as she pushed her phone into her pocket and drew off his coat. “The sulfur smell is pretty strong.”

He frowned and sniffed. “I find it worrisome that I hardly noticed,” he said, “but now that you mention it, I shall open a few windows.”

She came close, draped his coat over the back of his chair, and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll let you know what’s going on with Wynonna as soon as I get to the hospital. And you should come in, too, get that hand looked at and get started on some meds for the cough.”

“I shall consider it,” he said as she trotted away from him, up the scorched stairs and toward the door. And he would consider it. After he had some sleep.

But first things first. He struggled back into his coat, drank the rest of his whiskey, and headed for the door.

“ _When I walk around all of the streets_  
_Where I grew up and found my feet_  
 _They can't look me in the eye_  
 _It's like they're scared of me_  
 _I try to think of things to say_  
 _Like a joke or a memory_  
 _But they don't recognize me now_  
 _In the light of day”_

He found her in the same place he had found her before – the trailer park that was still home to most of Purgatory’s less aspiring Revenants. She was sitting outside one of the smaller, cleaner mobile homes, one that was hidden in a corner in the far back.

Far enough away that if someone – Wynonna – had come calling, she would have time to escape.

She was, as ever, imminently prepared. “Seeing as your mortal now, I guess this will kill you as dead as it would anyone,” she said, aiming the shotgun at him with cool proficiency. It had been her weapon of choice before, and he wasn’t surprised that it was again.

“I have no intentions to cause your trouble,” he said, holding up his hands. “Truth be told, I am concerned for you. Waverly recounted to be the events at the saloon, and I explained to her that your efforts were actually on my behalf.”

The shotgun didn’t waver. “As if that’s going to help. Wynonna Earp is going to kill me the second she sees me.”

“I have promised you that I will protect you,” he said, still holding his hands up, though is injured hand was starting to throb horribly.

“How are you going to do that? You’re mortal now, John Henry. She could just as well shoot you, seeing as how it was your idea to steal the baby.”

He drew in a breath – and then coughed.

And coughed.

And coughed.

When he finally stopped, his handkerchief was not the only thing covered in pink; so, too, was the bandage on his hand.

To her credit, at some point, she had lowered the shotgun, and though she still had it against one long leg, she was using her other hand to pour him whiskey.

It was not a good brand, but he hardly noticed.

There really was only one response at this point, and he gave it, though it took him a time to get the words past his anguished throat. “Indeed, I am quite mortal.”

She looked at him and then she shook her head. But the corners of her lips twitched, and when she spoke next, her tone was less sharp. “You remember the first time you said that to me?”

It took his a few seconds, and then he felt amusement. “The night I won against those mine owners from the New Mexico territory. You were one of the prizes – which was why I worked so hard to win.”

Her lips stretched a little, though not quite into a smile. “You had such a cough that night; I think they thought it was a ruse. They thought they could take advantage of you, but in the end, you won with a full house.”

He tilted his head and looked at her. “And I believe I won you, did I not?”

The smile finally settled her on sharp features. “Not that you took your prize that night. It was another several months before I managed to get you into bed.”

He looked away them, recalling the time. Recalling the situation. Not that he wanted to.

“It was because of Wyatt,” she said softly. “And now that I’ve had some time to think about it, some time to really concentrate on it, I think I understand. Everything that is happening now with you – Wynonna, the baby, your need to live in the back pocket of the Earp girls – it’s really all about Wyatt. About what happened then. You know, Kate and I used to joke about it. We used to think that your love for Wyatt was something strange and out of this world. But now, today, I think I understand better. I’ve seen Waverly and Nicole -hell, I’ve found myself lip-locked with Waverly. So many things that we didn’t understand before are more clear now.”

He swallowed, looking away from her. “I never lied to either of you – hell, Kate knew be for years before I met you. She knew how I was.”

“She did,” Rosita agreed, taking his bandaged hand. “And she loved you despite that, John Henry. Just as I do. Here, let me see what I can do.”

Just as she had all those years ago, she tended to him, shaking her head at his foolishness - “You drew a knife on Bobo when you knew he could use it against you?” - teasing him about his affections - “You know, sometimes, you look at Dolls the say way you used to look at Wyatt. Though I see a lot of similar qualities in him. They both seem to play with fire . . .” - and ultimately ending with the platitude that had become their own particular code for forgiveness: “Kate would never forgive me if I left you on your own.”

He looked up at her as she finished tying off the new bandage around his hand. She had applied some of her own concoctions to ward off various things that he hardly understood, though one of them seemed to be easing the pain markedly. “You mentioned my affections for Wyatt,” he said softly. “Dare I ask, did you and Kate . . .” Though he knew the answer as soon as the words were off his tongue.

Of course they had.

She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “She was the best thing that ever happened to me, John Henry. Just as she was the best thing that ever happened to you. I’m just thankful that I was between her and that damned bullet from Wyatt’s gun. He always was a bad shot, I don’t care what you say. How many of us are in Hell because he couldn’t shoot straight?”

How many, indeed, he thought. It occurred to him then that Bobo – Robert – had been correct: he was like the Revenants, especially those who had been collateral damage to Wyatt’s excesses. And he would be again, this time to Wyatt’s great granddaughters.

“I hear there is now a cure for tuberculosis,” he said, though he said the last word with a softness that bordered on a whisper. A habit from long ago, when one dared not speak its name, as if the name alone was enough to invoke the affliction.

She smiled, though her head was once more tilted down as she examined her work on his hand. “There is. Am I to work on that as well?”

“I would be deeply indebted to you, Rosita, if you could find a way to heal me of this mortal wound.”

She sighed but nodded. “I need my lab, of course.”

“Of course. My home is yours, as ever.”

She rose to her feet and looked down at him. “They all think that I’m jealous of Wynonna. But you know better, don’t you.”

He held her gaze, knowing that this was the actual debt. He could feign ignorance, but that would end things between them. “You promised Kate that you would care for me,” he said. “And it’s Kate you worry for. But I promise you, my love for Kate is as deep as it ever was.”

Her lips twitched, as though she might smile but her words were bitter. “Which was never as much as you loved Wyatt. But she knew that, and she accepted it.”

“Because she had you, Rosie, she had your love. You may be right that today, they have more acceptance of the variances of desire, but it seems to me that love is just as complicated and burdensome as it ever has been.”

She tilted her head to one side, her dark locks, loose from her usual chignon, framing her face. “Some things never change.”

In the dark of the night, they made their way back to the saloon, back to his bedroom on the third floor, where finally, he slept, her body warm against his, his dreams of Alices.

 

“ _I know I'm not the only one_  
_Who regrets the things they've done_  
 _Sometimes I just feel it's only me_  
 _Who never became who they thought they'd be_  
 _I wish I could live a little more_  
 _Look up to the sky, not just the floor_  
 _I feel like my life is flashing by_  
 _And all I can do is watch and cry_  
 _I miss the air, I miss my friends_  
 _I miss my mother, I miss it when_  
 _Life was a party to be thrown_  
 _But that was a million years ago_  
 _A million years ago_ ”

 Lyrics from “A Million Years Ago”, written by Adele Adkins and Gregory Kurstin, performed by Adele.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for:  
> Request 3 by mlraven  
> Fandom: Wynonna Earp (TV)  
> 19 Apr 2018  
> Tags
> 
> Xavier Dolls/Wynonna Earp/Doc Holliday Waverly Earp & Doc Holliday 
> 
> I hope this suits!


End file.
